


Knocking Boots

by Allimouse



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 16:38:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1476664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allimouse/pseuds/Allimouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miss Fisher and Jack find themselves playing in the mud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knocking Boots

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a bit of fluff that popped into my mind. Not much plot, just enough to get to the end, which I haven't decided whether I like or not. 
> 
> This is my first post on AO3 and my first Miss Fisher fanfic, but not my first fanfic. Please let me know what you think!

As Jack approached the hotel he chanced a look down at his wellies and grimaced. He and Miss Fisher were on a case in a small town that led to their slogging through mud to their knees in hopes of finding clues to what had turned into a triple homicide. Luckily he kept his rain boots on hand, one never knew what police work would lead one into, especially where Miss Fisher was concerned. 

Unfortunately he was covered in mud well above his admirable wellies due to a little…mishap. 

Jack and Miss Fisher had been trudging through the mud and muck, looking for possible clues to their latest mystery. Jack wore his usual suit along with the aforementioned black wellies. Miss Fisher wore workman’s clothes (looking scandalous as always), suspenders and all (an outfit she apparently borrowed from one of her cabbies), and a pair of ladies wellies. 

They should have worn waders. 

There were some deep parts to the mud that would suck one in if you were not careful. Miss Fisher happened to step into one of these and quickly found herself in mud above her knees. 

“Oh dear, um, Jack? Could you be a dear and pull me out?” she had requested with false meekness. Jack had a fleeting thought of trouble, but quickly brushed it off. Jack found he had developed a troubling habit of brushing off those thoughts when it was Miss Fisher’s brand of trouble.

Jack had obediently turned around and made the slow haul back to Miss Fisher and reached out a hand, which she readily took. He began to pull backwards, trying to free her from the muck, when a wicked glint appeared in her eye and Miss Fisher quickly shifted her weight backwards. The result of this sudden shift was to send her back into the mud with knees bent and feet still stuck, but Jack came flying forward, landing flat on top of the frustrating woman. 

“Hi, Jack,” she said softly. Jack stared at her, a soft smile stealing its way across his face. 

“Hello, Miss Fisher.” He stared into her eyes, mesmerized by their closeness. 

Jack had then suddenly (damnably) remembered their position in the open field and scrambled back, trying to regain his footing, issuing frantic apologies while trying to look anywhere but at Miss Fisher’s scandalous body and invitingly parted legs. The result was his arms sliding out from under him, placing him face forward in the mud beside her with the sounds of Miss Fisher laughing in delight. He looked up from the mud at her laughing face, then quickly threw a handful of the stinking stuff at her which hit with a satisfying THUCK! Miss Fisher looked startled for a moment, mud running down the side of her face while Jack laughed. 

“Is that how it is?” she asked with a wicked gleam in her eye. Then it was on. They threw mud, lightly wrestled, and laughed for a good twenty minutes until they found themselves out of breath on their backs, looking to the sky. 

“Miss Fisher, may I suggest we head back to the hotel? I doubt even you, with your arrayed talents, could locate a stray piece of jewelry in all of this,” Jack said, warning her (again) of the futility of their search. 

“You mean this one?” she asked with triumph thick in her voice, holding up the gaudy piece of jewelry in question. Jack looked over at her, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, deciding there really wasn’t anything to say. 

They struggled in the mud, finally managing to slink their way over to the edge of the mud and tiredly hauled themselves to their feet. Jack gave himself a cursory once-over, deciding rather quickly his clothes were a lost cause. He glanced over at Miss Fisher, whose outfit was lacking. Miss Fisher had decided to give up one of her boots as an offering to the mud gods in hopes of defeating Jack during their play in the mud (her words, not his), leaving herself with only one shoe to walk back in. Jack crouched down a little, presenting his back to her. 

“Come on, Miss Fisher. Hop on. I’ll carry you back to the hotel.” Miss Fisher blinked. 

“Why?” He gave her an exasperated look. 

“Because you lost a shoe in the mud. You can’t walk back barefoot, what if you step on something?” 

“Well, who am I to say no to such a gentlemanly request?” she teased, climbing up onto his back. “Oo Jack, I have always wanted to wrap my legs around your waist, I just always imagined it from the other side,” she whispered hotly in his ear. Jack swallowed thickly and tried to ignore the heat washing up his face and pooling in his groin. 

Once back to their hotel, Miss Fisher slid off of Jack’s back and gave him a bright thanks before turning to the front porch of the modest building. A couple of locals were standing there, giving them harsh looks. As with other small town investigations, they had found the locals to be less than accepting of a woman detective, and the law enforcement who took her seriously. Jack and Miss Fisher had been doing their best to work around the ill-looks and harsh words, but unfortunately the locals’ attitude was hampering the investigation. 

“Is this what ya keep ‘er round fo? A bit of rough on the side?” one asked Jack, giving Miss Fisher an appraising look. 

“You know there are better places to knock boots around here than that ol’ mud pit,” the other added. 

“’Ey now! Maybe tha’s ‘ow she likes it, ey? Wallowin’ in the mud like pigs, ey? Haha! Careful you don’ track yer filth in, don’ wanna hafta clean up after ya,” the first one warned, a harsh look behind the teasing façade. 

Jack felt the happiness he had been feeling burn away, replaced with a roiling anger at these less than proper words. It cut him to the quick that people were so inclined to brush off Miss Fisher because she was a woman, though he had to admit a certain understanding. He himself had been hesitant at first to take her seriously because she was an amateur and, he now hated to admit, a woman. The worst though was when they suggested he kept her around for sex. Again, this was not the first time he had heard it. Jack wished he could say it didn’t bother him when they said those things about him, but that would be a lie. He hated that they suggested he was having sex with Miss Fisher.

Mostly because it wasn’t true. 

OK, entirely because it wasn’t true. 

Jack had tried to ignore the budding feelings he had for Miss Fisher, and instead of going away, they had grown into a deep love born of friendship and respect. And lust. Just a little. A lot. Damn it. 

But Jack didn’t want to be just ‘a bit of rough’ to Miss Fisher. She had plenty of that in her life. He knew about the parade of men going through her life and her bed, and he hated each and every one of them, and he had no (a little) desire to add his float to the line. He wanted Miss Fisher –Phryne – to take him, body and soul, into her life and keep him there. He wanted…

His thoughts were interrupted by something tapping his leg. 

Jack looked down, but didn’t see anything. He looked over at Miss Fisher, who had an innocent look on her face, hiding a spot of vulnerability he both hated and loved to see. She looked at him with a small smile and gently reached out with her booted foot and nudged his foot, quickly pulling it back. He gave her a confused look, which she answered with an exasperated sigh and a rapid repeat of the motion. He looked down, still confused. Was she trying to tell him something? Why would she kick him…oh…

Jack smiled, causing Miss Fisher to beam at him before announcing she was going to find a bath. He watched her trudge up onto the porch, being sure to take solid steps that left great clumps of mud in her wake. 

The smile on Jack's face grew until it hurt, but he couldn't stop. He and Miss Fisher had just knocked boots.


End file.
